Orcs in Hobbiton
by The Lauderdale
Summary: AU. Two years after Sauron won the war, his Orcs come to a Shire under Saruman's dominion. The hobbits who dwell there are caught in the middle. Told in drabbles & drabble-increments. ADDED: "Apple Time." Amelia Chubb is picking apples for the first time.
1. Arrival

**This series began as a response to Dwimordene's May 2008 request for AU drabbles at the Henneth Annûn Story Archive. Two years after Sauron won the war, his Orcs come to a Shire under Saruman's dominion. The hobbits that are its proper inhabitants are caught in the middle. Told in drabbles and drabble-increments (200, 300, etc.)**

-.-.-.-

It is Autumn when they come to Bree and the inn is filled with half-Men, who fawn on them. One tries to be cavalier: "Ho lads, but you took your own time getting here. We've held this fat land two years now and thought to see you before." Norgush, who is not friendly this way, smiles and motions the fellow closer. Breaks his neck with an easy twist. The room is silent as the corpse hits the floor. In another room a woman is weeping.

"We have heard of your Sharkey in the Southeast," says Norgush. "We come to rendezvous."


	2. The Standard Bearer

The standard is tipping in his hand when another goblin jostles him. "Wotcher, Ashglob! Look alive, eh?" Awake again but just as bored, Ashglob picks his nose.

Norgush is talking to a Shirriff. There used to be more of them but under Sharkey's boys their numbers have suffered considerable depreciation. "Won't be like that now," says Norgush. "We'll take care of _everything_."

His assurance is clearly little comfort. "It'll be tough going," the Shirriff says, a sickening fear-smile on his face. "Been hard times here, and some are…prejudiced…against your folk."

"They'll learn to love us soon enough."

A group of the lads are drinking and laughing. There is some creature at their feet and from time to time they lean over it or kick it. Ashglob can hear it mewling. One Uruk says he needs to piss. "No need to leave for that, eh friends?" Crude sniggers as the Uruk opens his breeches.

Ashglob wonders if their victim is a cat or a child. It could be either from the sound it makes, but he cannot tell from here. "Oi, Ashglob. It's dipping again." He holds it high, the Great Eye flapping above him, winking in the breeze over Hobbiton.


	3. The Lockholes

The stone is always stone now, never faces, never trees. Time is the stale crust thrown to him, how often the slops are emptied. Sometimes the guards forget about the pail; they make him wash the floor then, add their own filth for sport. "Phew, there's another dump. Good job you're already cleaning, eh?"

More than one guard is a bad sign; when the voices begin further up the corridor it should mean trouble. But Avis sounds sullen, scared, and when the key turns in the lock Bolger lifts his head. Somehow, overnight, the Lockholes detail has grown uglier. _They didn't have fangs before, did they? I've been here too long_, he thinks.

"—could leave them locked up just as easily. They were Rebels."

"_Skai_! Little rats can't do anything to us. Besides, it'll make us look good with their folk. Ashglob, strike the chains on that one. We'll loose them all."

The refuse of the Lockholes are soon divided: guards to one side, prisoners to the other. "You're free," a rough-skinned someone says to the hobbits. He gestures with a munificent claw. "Now scarper."

Avis used to grin when he came into Bolger's cell. _I think that you're my favorite, after Whitfoot_. The last Bolger sees of Avis, someone very tall and very frightening stands over the man. Try as he might, Bolger does not feel sorry.

Ashglob shrinks from open sunlight, says, "You're on your own," but when he withdraws his supporting shoulder Bolger falls. Ashglob hesitates before pulling him out of foot traffic: "Right, we might could use a breather." He is hobbit-tall but no hobbit ever had that mottled skin, that many teeth. He undoes the flask at his hip, takes a swig.

Bolger thinks of his parents, his sister Estella, and wonders how many of the others dreamt of their families waiting for them in the light beyond the Lockholes. He wonders what he will find when he goes looking for them, and thinks of what it means for Orcs to have entered the Shire.

A hand settles on his head; he flinches away. Ashglob mutters that he's never seen that kind of hair before, referring to the hobbit's matted curls. He shrugs at Bolger's wary look, downs more drink. Together they sit watching the other prisoners shuffle out, sun-drunk, free to straggle home as best they can with no one there to help.


	4. His Master's Voice

It was the home of some hobbit bigwig once, named Lotho, though what became of him no one knows. It's the stuff of idle chatter among the Orcs who guard. No one in, no one out, and if they see whiskers one is to fetch Norgush and the rest are to cover their ears.

"Why for?"

"'Cause he's a wizard, that's what, and if he speaks you'll go to him."

"Phew, we serve the Eye. I'm not afraid of some dirty little wizard."

"Then you're a fool. He may not seem much, but he's a wizard still and has a Voice."

"If he's a wizard why should he come out? Garn. He's probably doing well enough, the old bugger, magicking in his victuals and his drink…"

-.-.-.-

_Worm, _says Master_. I am hungry, Worm._

_There is no food, Master._

_But there _is_ food, isn't there. Clever Worm. I heard you, Worm, not an hour ago. Killed the old rat, didn't you, and you were after him so long. Aren't you ashamed, Worm. Worm…did you keep none to share? None for your poor old Master?_

_The rats are mine. You said they were._

_I wasn't hungry then. Worm. Dear Worm. I am so hungry now…_

_Worm, _says Master_. Worm, I am hungry._

_There is nothing, Master._

_Not even rats, Worm? Not even beetles? What do your crawling kind feed on, Worm? Do you swallow the dust and the air? _

…

_Worm? Where did you bury Lotho, Worm? In the garden or the cellar…? _

Even his Master's Voice has left him, become the querulous tones of a frightened old man. Gríma goes down to the cellar, his face wet with tears. He plants the blade in the earth that he packed down so carefully, leans in and sobs, and starts to dig.


	5. The Interview

When they bring #58 before him Norgush studies him at length. "You are thinner than I expected, Mr. Bolger." #58 mutters something, which Norgush prompts him to repeat.

"My mother is trying to change that."

Norgush ignores the little joke. "You were released three days ago, when my boys emptied the Lockholes. I'm sorry for that. You see, they didn't know what they were doing."

"Are you putting me back?" #58 is looking at the floor but his voice is clear and calm. He was a leader of rebels, though he may not look it.

"Only doing the work they ought to have done first. Tell me about the Brockenbores." There is an empty chair standing before Norgush. He does not ask #58 to sit.

After twenty minutes of questions #58 is trembling. He stammers one answer and then falls silent; the Commander watches without comment. "Sit," he finally says, and #58 complies, hands clasped and resting on his knees. "It's up to you," says Norgush, "if we put you back or not. If you cooperate there is no trouble."

"How do I do that?"

"Your folk love a quiet life. Live one."

The hobbit's lips tighten. "A quiet life?" For the first time he looks up. "I'm not sure I know what that is any more."

The Orc smiles dryly. "Then you are in the same position we are, Mr. Bolger."

-.-.-.-

Fredegar Bolger is leaving when someone catches his arm from behind ("_Oi!_"). He stops at once, without resistance.

The goblin releases him quickly. "Guess I scared you. Didn't mean to, only I saw you coming out of there an' I recognized you from before. Norgush had you visit, eh? What'd you do? You useta be somethin' interesting, didn't you?"

Bolger says nothing. Undiscouraged, Ashglob follows him home.


	6. Sharkû

"He calls for you at Barad-dûr. He says, 'Like calls to like.'"

"A trick," whispers Saruman. "Deception…"

"To what purpose? This world is his." Norgush's eyes hold contempt the wizard does not see.

"He calls for me in truth? He does not seek my death?"

"The retinue awaits, my Lord, which would take you to Mordor."

The slain Ruffians, Saruman asks. The quarantine? Misunderstandings, Norgush assures him. Perhaps the wizard believes; perhaps he only pretends, knowing resistance is futile. He draws himself up, tall as Men are tall, and fragile. "Then do you lead, Orc, and I will follow."

They skirt the dead man at the base of the stairs, robes hauled above the bony hips like a corpse-lover's leavings. "My Worm," the whitebeard murmurs. "Your master goes now, to his Master. There is something of you in me after all, Worm…" If it weren't for the sobriety of his voice, Norgush would take it for proper Orkish humor. The body is several days old and is less than intact.

The upper floor is feces and dusty furniture. On the lintel Saruman hangs back, blinking at the mass of Orcs beyond the splintered door. "Is this my retinue?" Silence follows. In the stillness an audible whisper as one small Orc asks his fellow what a retinue is.

"He's yours," says Norgush to a group of black Mordor Orcs, and Saruman's face falls at the fetters that they hold.

-.-.-.-

"Like calls to like…" he murmurs later.

"Oi _Sharkû_, you keep your mouth shut. Orders are we're to gag you if your tongue wags overmuch."

He is silent. The wagon jolts and shivers over the rough road leaving Hobbiton. Varicolored eyes of Orcs, Halfling eyes like stones. Jeers rising from the sea of eyes on the road that leads to Mordor.


	7. Our Lily

Gershit has never milked a goat before. He doesn't want to now. He swore at the old grandmother but she is deaf and palsied; besides, this is her son's job. "My Brogo is a good boy. He never forgets our Lily." They hanged her Brogo yester-noon but he can't make her understand. "It's not like him to be late. He knows my hands aren't what they were."

Our Lily's white-rimmed eye rolls at Gershit around the stanchion corner. It was a business getting her into it and he rubs his bruises ill-temperedly. "Old bitch," he tells the imprisoned goat, "I'll make you smart for those." One long ear flicks and he knows she wants to kick him, but Norgush will have something to say if the milk does not make tally. Gershit takes the mottled teats in his gray hands.

Old Lady Hobbit stands by, stooped and smiling, gnarled hands folded before her. "You are a good friend to my Brogo to come here in his place." She is blind as well as deaf. Her eyes are cloudy with cataracts.

Our Lily fusses in her wooden pillory and Gershit mutters obscenities. Squeeze pull, squeeze pull. Milk hissing into the pan.


	8. Law and Order

When the rapes get out of hand he institutes reprisals. First-timers receive a flogging; second, the long drop. Seconds were more creative at first—public entertainment, the hammer and the long knives—but that turned Halfling stomachs. They came to him green of face and halt of speech: he mustn't misunderstand, they want justice for their womenfolk, but torture is excessive.

Norgush doesn't misunderstand. They are too weak for an Orc's idea of retribution. He draws up the documents again, makes the revisions they want, but executions are still public. There are his lads to consider, after all. It's about encouraging the right kind of behavior. The rapes continue, but they are more circumspect, and Norgush is satisfied.

The Halfling men are not. They come to him squeaking of their daughters and their wives. Their mothers. Their grandmothers. He listens indifferently and, when they finish, reminds them of the long knives and the tongs. This time when they reject his counsel he can see reluctance. Soon they will ask for it and then the incidents might actually drop off.

Norgush is patient. Rope enough in the meantime; he can afford to wait. After all, it's no skin off his neck.


	9. The Green Cap

When the Big Folk came to the Shire and the first women were outraged, and after. Two years now. _Don't go nowhere without it, and speak but little, and talk low when you do._ She's the lad in the green brimmed cap and even Mother calls her _My good boy_. Now the Ruffians are ousted and Orcs have taken their place, but Rega sees little difference. When she brings the family cow for the register they pay no closer attention than the Men did. No smarter, then, just uglier.

Out by the Cottons' smial one day she passes two in the road. They stop, and turn, and follow. Her steps lengthen. So do theirs. "Hi! You!" one shouts and she is running, green cap flying from her head. They catch her by the third fencepost before the thoroughfare.

After, the second smears himself against her face, wipes himself on her short-cropped hair. "_Hoo_, feel that! Soft as a wench's." Their horrid laughter in her ears long after they have gone.

Coughing out their poison, Rega wonders bitterly if she'd have been safer as a girl. Prompted by two years' habit, she rises slowly and walks back to retrieve her cap.


	10. Pig Doctor

They call him "Pig Doctor" when they're being respectful. He's the only doctor now that Arno Brockburrow is in the Lockholes. _Harm nobody…_but Arno poisoned four Orcs, and there was nothing for it but to find a substitute.

Shep Lightfoot didn't want the job. What does he know of treating Orcs or hobbits? His skill is with beasts, with dumb animals, but now he must practice his medicine on another kind of brute entirely.

Pain is a condition that knows no boundaries. The Uruk's face crawls with it, though it does not say a word, and that is not so different from Shep's usual patients. But when the hobbit shifts the shattered arm ("Just so, there now…") a fist the size of a melon closes on his throat; a sharp nail digs into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. The Uruk watches him with ruby eyes.

Ponies have no hands but still they kick. Dogs will bite when they are frightened. Shep looks into those crimson depths and clucks, speaks with quiet firmness. "Steady on," he tells the Uruk. "Easy…" He places his own small hands over that of the monster gripping him, detaches it one talon at a time.


	11. Fregar

It's Fregar now, for Ashglob cannot say his proper name. "Dunno why you want them so long," Ashglob said when he heard it. "And another on top? I dunno…" Without families of their own, Orcs do not understand the concept of surnames.

They do not entirely understand beds either. Ashglob's black nails snag on the sheets and clean white counterpane. Fregar stretches in the patch of sunlight at the far end of the bed: he feels the goblin's eyes watching him, feline-keen and interested, but Ashglob is more doggish with his large cocked ears, his thousand points of awkwardness.

"Come here?" he asks, uncertain, eager. Not someone to be frightened of. Fregar thinks of staying put, but he will not forget what Ashglob is, or Ashglob may remember. And Fregar has family.

Strong crooked hands on his body, rough swart skin on his skin,

("I like how soft you are")

It is not true to say that Fregar lets it happen, for he takes some part in it as well.

After, shy as any hobbit lad a-wooing, Ashglob offers him a basket of red fruits. _Pilfered_, Fregar knows, and is oddly touched by how much the goblin wants to please.


	12. Apple Time

Little call for ladders this year. When the apples ripen they are all in the orchards, hobbit and Orc alike. Tall Uruk-hai lift Halflings and goblins up into the green, lean bored beneath the laden boughs. They stack each basket as it comes to them, apple on apple, pear on pear.

The Chubbs have never picked before: in past years it was done by hirelings. But the orchard isn't hers anymore, and Amelia is there with the rest. Gray-faced she clings to her branch, tries not to lose her breakfast, while the Noakes children clamber around her.

"Oi you swine," calls unpleasant Burzug. "We're coming behind on baskets."

"This one's not doin' nothin'," counters a goblin, jabbing a thumb at Amelia.

"You toad, Yagrub," snaps Marigold Noakes, "you do precious little yourself!"

The Uruk bellows, "_Fuck the lot of you_! You'll all pick faster or have a lesson in efficiency! I'll give you a taste of my – _**hurk**_!"

There's dispute over the offending apple, whether it was thrown by a goblin or a Halfling. Later, both camps will claim it as a point of pride. For now it helps that no one is fond of Burzug, and Tree#349 only receives a stiff lecture on productivity. It's hard to say if the talk itself makes any difference: they're all in better spirits now that Burzug and his swollen eye have gone, and the pace picks up accordingly. Amelia finally conquers her stomach, stands full-height while Marigold advises her in picking. The green leaves are luminous in the sun. The goblins have adopted the Halflings' straw hats, which they tug low over their foreheads.

"Twist as you pull," says Marigold. "Yes…that's coming along nicely." She wipes the sweat from her brow. "Changed days, eh, Amelia."

Amelia smiles ruefully. "Changed days, Mrs. Noakes."


	13. Endnotes

Endnotes to _Orcs in Hobbiton_

A response to Dwimordene's May 2008 birthday request for AU drabbles inadvertently kicked off a series. What if Sauron won the War of the Ring? What would that mean for the Shire? I've been writing these as I go and would love to get people's opinions on them. If they seem discontinuous it is probably because I have another drabble or drabbles to write that will help fill things in. Comments and suggestions very welcome.

In the meantime, these are notes on the individual drabbles (because when you are dealing with drabbles, notes at the bottom of each chapter can become obtrusive very quickly.)

-.-.-.-

"Arrival" (100 words)

Chapter 8 of _Return of the King_, "The Scouring of the Shire," depicts a Shire in which "ruffians" (Men, many of them intimated to have Orkish blood) have taken over. Their leader Sharkey is actually Saruman, who planned to ruin Frodo's homeland in revenge for the ruin of Orthanc.

After two years the Shire is solidly under the authority of "Sharkey" and his influence has spread to the immediate outlying communities. Two years into the consolidation of their Master's conquered lands, a force of Orcs have arrived in Eriador under the authority of Commander Norgush. In "Arrival" Norgush and his Orcs come to Bree's Prancing Pony to find it filled with Men and half-Orcs.

-.-.-.-

"The Standard Bearer" (200 words)

By the time "The Standard Bearer" takes place, the transfer of power between Saruman's meager lot and Norgush's superior forces has mostly happened. No attention is given to how much (or little) fighting took place to effectuate this. As Tolkien depicts them, Saruman's forces are thuggish and easily routed once the local hobbits are properly mobilized. It is unlikely that seasoned Orkish soldiers would have any difficulty.

-.-.-.-

"The Lockholes" (400 words)

The Lockholes are old storage tunnels at Michel Delving that the ruffians used as prisons for any hobbits who stood up to them. Mayor Will Whitfoot was the first hobbit taken. A later prisoner was Fredegar Bolger, better known to readers as Fatty.

Norgush's Orcs demonstrate extreme shortsightedness in this scene. Thinking it will ingratiate them with the local hobbits, they free all of the prisoners regardless of why they were imprisoned in the first place. Acting off the cuff and not taking time to ask Norgush first or advertise the event, they botch a good public relations opportunity and release a large group of sick and starving hobbits with no one on hand to assist them.

-.-.-.-

"His Master's Voice" (300 words)

Lotho Sackville-Baggins was an ambitious hobbit who took over the Shire with Saruman's help but was essentially his puppet. He couldn't prevent his own mother being sent to the Lockholes, and he was eventually murdered by Gríma Wormtongue.

"But did I hear someone ask where poor Lotho is hiding? You know, don't you, Worm? Will you tell them? … Then I will," said Saruman. "Worm killed your Chief, poor little fellow, your nice little Boss. Didn't you, Worm? Stabbed him in his sleep, I believe. Buried him, I hope; though Worm has been very hungry lately. No, Worm is not really nice." (_Return of the King_, Bk 6, Ch 8, "The Scouring of the Shire")

_His Master's Voice_ is a painting of a dog listening to a gramophone, which became a famous logo in the recording industry.

-.-.-.-

"The Interview" (300 words)

"…poor Fredegar Bolger, Fatty no longer. He had been taken when the ruffians smoked out a band of rebels that he led from their hidings up in the Brockenbores by the hills of Scary." (Ch 9, "The Grey Havens")

-.-.-.-

"Sharkû" (300 words)

"He calls for you at Barad-dûr. He says, 'Like calls to like.'" Both Sauron and Saruman are Maiar: celestial beings of a degree below the Valar in Tolkien's cosmology. Sauron betrayed his office when he left Aulë's service and entered Arda as a servant of Melkor, a renegade Vala. When Melkor fell Sauron set himself up as a new Dark Lord. Saruman entered Arda as one of the Istari, or Wizards: Maiar sent to Middle-earth in embodied form as servants of the (good) Valar. Saruman betrayed his office when he sought to rule rather than to guide and vouchsafe the peoples of Middle-earth. Sauron and Saruman were great artificers and lore-masters, with remarkable abilities to compel and control others and a penchant for abusing those gifts.

My suspicion is that Saruman used digging up Lotho in "His Master's Voice" to get Gríma down in the cellar, and attacked him on his way up the stairs.

_Sharkû_ is the Orkish word for "old man." During Saruman's time in the Shire he was known by the name "Sharkey." "So you have heard the name, have you? All my people used to call me that in Isengard, I believe. A sign of affection, possibly." (Ch 8, "The Scouring of the Shire")

-.-.-.-

"Our Lily" (200 words)

A stanchion is a device for holding animals in place by securing their heads.

-.-.-.-

"Law and Order" (200 words)

Melkor wanted to destroy Middle-earth. Sauron wants to own it. He wouldn't want to ruin the Shire but to maintain it as a productive and valuable asset. Norgush knows that this is easier with a cooperative local populace, which means dialogue: hence the back-and-forth on governance and a system for punishing his own Orcs when they get out of control. He is still an Orc, though, and his values are very different from a hobbit's.

This is information that will probably never find a way into these drabbles, but I believe Norgush began his career as a torturer at Barad-dûr: someone with good communication skills and an even temper who got results with minimal "unpleasantness" and impressed his higher-ups. He was subsequently given leadership responsibilities and impressed with those as well, moving up the ladder. A soldier who nonetheless understands and respects bureaucracy, he now commands a large occupying force of Orcs and Uruk-hai.

Orcs don't hold a monopoly on rape. Rape and sexual abuse is an ugly constant in instances of wartime and post-war occupation. I have never heard of any in which this hasn't been true.

-.-.-.-

"The Green Cap" (200 words)

A young hobbit has disguised herself as a boy through two occupations (first Men, now Orcs) to protect herself. In case there is any confusion, no, the Orcs did not see through her disguise. They saw an unaccompanied hobbit and took advantage. While skewed toward women and children, nobody is safe from sexual assault.

If anything positive can be gleaned from this episode, Rega's bitter thought that she might have been "safer as a girl" indicates that some of Norgush's efforts have been paying off…with limited results. These Orcs might feel safe in their actions because A) their victim was not a woman, and B) they did nothing to "him" below the belt. Whether Norgush would accept this reasoning is unknown. He might.

-.-.-.-

"Pig Doctor" (200 words)

Those Lockholes didn't go empty for long. Norgush's boys encounter rebellion from a surprising quarter as a hobbit doctor uses his office to murder Orkish patients. A qualified Halfling physician is too valuable to kill out of hand; in the meantime, an unassuming veterinarian is conscripted to replace him.

The Hippocratic Oath is an anachronism that you will have to forgive my indulging.

-.-.-.-

"Fregar" (200 words)

How consensual is sex if you feel you have no choice? How much choice _does_ Fredegar have? How might his time in the Lockholes have shaped him? Is Ashglob aware of his own power in the situation?

There probably isn't enough information provided to answer some of these questions, really.

-.-.-.-

"Apple Time" (300 words)

Orcs are not a monolithic group: in fact, division and discord is endemic to Orkish nature. (Not unlike humans.) Some small concordance between goblins and hobbits also seems possible to me in view of their shared height and the probability that both chafe beneath the arrogance of the Uruk-hai.

The trees in modern commercial orchards are cut down before they get very big. Trees are more fruitful when they are young, and easier to pick from when they are small. The hobbits of the Shire are less mercenary, allowing their trees to grow full stature, so this is a big apple tree capable of accommodating a number of small people. That's how I excuse it to myself, anyway. The truth is I just wanted to fit a bunch of goblins and hobbits in an apple tree.

I also imagine that sun-sensitive goblins, obliged to work in daylight, would be wildly enthusiastic about straw hats and about brimmed hats in general.

The Chubbs are Shire hobbits who may have been wealthy (certainly they had relations with the Baggins family), whereas the Noakes hobbits are working class. I wondered how Occupation might affect the Shire's old class system.


End file.
